On the third anniversary of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, Daria Kolomiec shares a diary entry recorded as a voice memo while hiding in a Kyiv basement on February 24, 2022.
As a Ukrainian, I want to remind you—at this very moment—when the truth is being blurred, when gaslighting is happening on a global scale, when the names of war criminals are fading into obscurity, and when the responsibility for atrocities is being shifted onto the country that is their victim. A country that is a hero, that stands for freedom, that defends democracy—not just in Europe but, as it turns out, in the entire world.
Because the world forgets; it forgets so quickly.
As if the Mariupol Drama Theater never existed, as if it was never bombed while civilians were sheltering, with the word “CHILDREN” written in giant letters outside.
As if the raped, tortured, and executed people of Bucha never existed. As if the world never saw their bodies lying on the streets. As if Bucha’s massacre never made the front pages of every major newspaper when the Kyiv region was liberated.
As if thousands of Ukrainian children were never abducted or forcibly deported to Russia. As if you hadn’t seen the photographs on all the news outlets—images of children connected to life-support machines, forced to take shelter in the basement when Russia shelled Ukraine’s largest children’s hospital, Okhmatdyt, on July 8 last year.
As if there was no Olenivka, where Ukrainian prisoners of war were burned alive. As if Bakhmut never stood before it was obliterated by Russian bombs. As if entire families, civilians trying to escape in their cars with their children, were not gunned down by Russian soldiers.
As if you had forgotten that Kyiv was predicted to fall in three days, yet we have been standing strong for three years.
The world forgets so quickly.
But I do not.
I want to remind you what the morning of February 24, 2022, was like. Exactly three years ago. The morning when Russia began its open genocide, its unrelenting terror against the largest country in Europe. Openly. Shamelessly.
I am sharing here a voice memo—a personal diary entry—I recorded on my phone that morning, hiding from a Russian attack in the basement of a café where I used to start my days. A café where I drank my favorite coffee—capuorange, a drink made only in Ukraine, from fresh orange juice and espresso. Only in Ukraine.
There are many more things made only in Ukraine. But it’s for another time.
Now, I am sharing my Diary of War exclusively with you, the readers of More to Her Story:
These diaries were collected by Daria Kolomiec at the start of the full-scale Russian invasion.
My name is Daria Kolomiec.
I am the founder of the music platform MusicCures; I am a DJ, musical producer, and presenter.
The morning of February 24th began with a call from my sister at 5 am.
For quite some time, I have been accustomed to not keeping my phone in my bedroom. I’d even started to use my phone’s airplane mode so that I could not be reached at all.
But, after President Biden’s prognosis about the war and warnings about February 16th… when all these stories about “emergency suitcases” and bunkers started to emerge. I decided not to turn on airplane mode anymore. Still, I kept the phone in the other room, not by my bedside.
I remember well when that phone began to vibrate throughout the apartment. And my very first thought… before even opening my eyes, was…
“So, it has started.”
I ran to the other room, picked up the phone, and heard the voice of my sister, who lives in Cherkasy. (my native city 3 hours from the capital)
“Daria… Kyiv is being bombed. Wake up.”
Andriy, her son, my nephew, who lived in a dorm in Kyiv, had been woken up by the headmaster.
The students were told to get up and get dressed. The full-scale Russian war had started.
I remember my first emotion was anger. Anger at being awakened. I thought to myself: “Damn, I was sleeping so sweetly.”
And I walked to the window… where I saw… and heard… explosions. Real explosions.
Like the ones seen in James Bond movies… or the ones with Tom Cruise… or other action movies.
And here, looking out my window in downtown Kyiv, I was witnessing them with my own eyes and ears.
The next thing I remember is that I dropped my gum guard.
A gum guard is a protective device my dentist had prescribed the day before. I was to wear it on my lower jaw to protect my teeth from grinding at night.
It turns out that many of us squeeze our jaws due to stress … and “eat” our own teeth.
Since “eating” my teeth is very expensive, and I would never want to have anything artificial in my mouth, I agreed to sleep in this gum guard.
It was only the second night I had been using it.
And while talking to my sister Kateryna, I dropped it. It slipped away… somewhere under my bed.
And for the first 30 minutes of the war, which I was now hearing through my window, I was looking for my gum guard.
Ironically, it was something I would never need during the war. It was not a part of my “emergency suitcase.”
But still… I got on my knees… and for half an hour… I could not do anything else.
I talked to myself, telling myself that first, I would find the gum guard… and then I would figure out the rest.
Of course, at that same moment, my phone would not stop ringing. My friends were calling. Everyone was trying to go somewhere.
They were telling me to get ready, suggesting to leave, go abroad, or at least to the western part of Ukraine.
I asked them to hold on… because I was looking for my gum guard.
I then called my mother and asked what was happening in Cherkasy, my native city. My whole family lives there.
But still… I kept looking for that gum guard.
I went out on my balcony.
I live in an apartment with windows facing all different sides of the street.
And I immediately saw small children and parents… with parcels, suitcases, and backpacks… being loaded into their cars.
We had always had a big, distinctive van parked in the yard.
Animals, children, and families had already been loaded into it and water-packed.
I distinctly remember the moment I looked at them and realized that I did not want to go anywhere.
I had refueled my car the day before.
In my car, I left my headphones from the previous DJ- set, which was that Monday at my friend Maryna Krut’s birthday.
I left a flash drive, vinyls, and my music set … just in case.
Cool emergency suitcase, right?
Headphones, a flash drive, vinyls, and a brush to clean vinyls. Just awesome, exactly what you need during the war.
I stood stone-still.
I really couldn’t get away from the balcony, knowing that I didn’t want to go anywhere right now.
Then, I heard the first air raid alarm… the first air raid alarm in Ukraine… the first air raid alarm in my life…
That first alarm… that I now know by heart.
The first alarm… during which I can now get to the shelter in 30 seconds.
And here… my body was not acting as usual.
Because usually, in this type of extreme situation, my body would begin to flee, fight, or decide.
But this time, I ridiculously continued looking for either the gum guard or a sweater. I did not know what to wear.
I think my body just froze in this situation.
And… by the way… I never did find my gum guard.
So finally, I took a backpack … with documents and chargers inside of it… and I went downstairs to find shelter.
The day before, I read a leaflet on the entrance door:
“Dear residents, your shelter is located at a certain address, which means, not on this street, and in order to get the key, you need to call such a number. We work from Monday to Friday until 5 pm.”
I remember when I read this, I thought:
“ha-ha-ha, sure… the war is starting, and we will still go somewhere looking for the key while we are being bombed.”
And yet, here, this ‘ha-ha-ha’ became true.
I go downstairs – there is no shelter.
I go to the premises, and I see a small crowd; it’s sunrise, and I can not find shelter.
And people with backpacks, children, and dogs can’t find anything. There is a beautiful cafe in my street, which I love very much. The owner of this cafe lives one floor above the cafe.
I texted her: Please open the cafe. Russia attacked all of Ukraine. We are being bombed; we have nowhere to go.
And she opened it.
And everyone who could get in there got inside.
This cafe became our improvised bomb shelter because we did not have a real one in our area.
I remember back then that I had no realization of what was happening. I returned to the apartment to settle my mind and figure out who was going where.
Everyone who called told me that it was necessary to leave… but I had no intention of doing so.
I saw the traffic jams of cars leaving Kyiv, and I froze.
I froze … not knowing what to do … but knowing for certain that I did not want to flee.
And I definitely would not.
It was such a strong awareness… such a strong feeling … that I don’t think anyone could have changed my mind at that moment.
It is said that each of us intuitively knows what is best to do, and I assured myself of this completely.
My neighbor, whom I’d only seen a few times before, texted me asking if she could come over.
We began to group together … those from that street…. as neighbors … not to be alone.
I don’t have a TV at home. So, we turned on YouTube to see the news. And we began to watch what was unfolding.
No one expected this to happen.
No one expected that civilians, children, and all people would be so indiscriminately exterminated.
That there will be terrible terrorist bloodshed in the heart of Europe. I had never imagined in my life that I would live in this.
That first day that I’m telling you about is right here in my heart.
I remember that those first couple of days… I did not cry.
The first night I stayed in my apartment… after that… I spent the nights in a basement at the cafe.
And when I was in that basement… with a lot of strangers… we all slept on the floor… huddled together and hugged each other to keep each other warm because it was very cold.
We took all the blankets we had at our homes and fell asleep in each other’s embraces.
I remember that first night in the shelter when I heard everything being bombed, everything flying, everything thundering.
I had already seen footage of destroyed buildings.
And I remember having a panic attack … when I wanted to wail very much.
And I allowed myself that… I started weeping like a cartoon character when everything follows from the nose and the mouth.
Then, for the first time in my life, I felt my jaw and body shaking incessantly. And it was not a quiet shiver that only I could have felt.
I shivered like a cartoon character.
You know… when they draw cartoons, they portray themselves hyperbolically… that’s how I felt.
My teeth clicked like that [shows].
And I’m very grateful to the people who were around me then.
They started hugging me, stroking me, without telling me to calm down, leave it, please, etc.
I think that’s when I felt fear.
During those first few days, I was very terrified.
I was scared because I didn’t want to die; I didn’t want my loved ones to die either … not then… not now.
I realized that Putin, the Russians, and their army have no boundaries. They simply will not stop, and the indiscriminate bloodshed has begun.
I remember what had calmed me down then, and I want to share it with you. I calmed down when I informed my close friends from abroad about what I wanted to happen to my creative work.
All that I had at that moment if I didn’t wake up the next day.
I told my friends where to find all my music and my drafts. I just started to write the album for my electronic project TANTSURA. So I told them where to find this… music.
I wanted my MusiCures app, where I broadcast Ukrainian music, to carry on so the music would be broadcast all over the world and projects would be carried out.
And when I decided to share all my creativity and my dreams, you know… it became easier for me, a lot.
I had a moment of extremely clear awareness that I may not wake up tomorrow.
And I remember thinking … “Well, what then, is this it?”
Like … “Really, is that all?”
And like scenes in a movie, my life played out before my eyes
And all of the most important and happiest moments that came to me … all of them were tied to specific people… to my relationships and connections to others… to nature, and to music
Not one of these beautiful memories was tied to anything material. And then I wondered why these moments had been so fleeting.
I saw the faces of specific people, remembered specific conversations And the overwhelming emotion I felt toward them was gratitude.
And even, for some reason… the desire to ask them all for forgiveness … that I wished I had been a better person for them all
So essentially, in the end, I felt only love for all the people that had been in my life.
It was a very interesting feeling.
Now, I am happy to be in Ukraine. And again, I don’t want to run anywhere at all.
At this moment, I cannot leave the country.
When it is being torn apart, when it is being beaten, when it is sick, when we are all sick, I cannot.
With all this, I understand every person who makes a decision.
Once again, I absolutely believe that each of us must fight on our own front lines.
Someone can fight the information war… someone in the keyboard army… someone – to hold a gun.
Each person can go somewhere to arrange a community, to relocate immigrants, to help financially, to help physically, to help mentally.
Just hug someone, take care of their family, cook for the family, cook for the street, buy food for people who can’t do it, and ban Russian fakes.
Everyone should be where they are the strongest at that time. What I cannot accept and understand still is indifference.
When a person does nothing, it’s one thing when they can’t do it because of mental and physical pain.
And another thing is when they just flip through the news and do nothing.
I believe that now everyone can and should fight on their own frontlines, and that’s the only way we will win.
I have no doubt that Ukraine will win.
I am only fearful of the number of casualties.
And how long it may take.
I don’t know, personally… I don’t know.
Every day I feel different emotions… the whole range of a year’s worth of emotions in one day.
So I decided to start recording these diaries of the war so that you and I would never forget these feelings.
So that you and I would never forget what happened to us. Never forget how we felt… how our bodies reacted… and how our relatives reacted.
Please keep your faith, keep your energy; everything will be fine. Everything will be Ukraine!
I’m already dreaming of our festive victory celebrations.
I’m already compiling an internal playlist.
Now is the time to fight and defend our land to the best of our abilities. And we will.
Glory to Ukraine! Слава Україні!
END
Reflecting on my 5 a.m. diary entry from February 24th, I realize once again that my psyche always resorts to humor as a defense mechanism. This tendency is evident in that entry as well. Over these three years, my personal life has undergone significant changes, marked by new gray hairs, personal losses of friends in the Russian war in Ukraine, and a transformation of my entire existence.
The Diary of War, starting with that first entry, has evolved into a project where I’ve collected 41 stories from various regions of Ukraine. From these narratives, I began creating performances and theatrical productions.
I brought these stories to the U.S., shaping them into performances that could speak to new audiences. In the summer of 2022, I started sharing them in New York, where The Naked Angels theater community embraced them, bringing them to their stage repeatedly from 2022 to 2024.
In 2023–24, I had the honor of working with the Yara Arts Group and director Virlana Tkacz. Stories from Mariupol were first read at an exhibition by Mstyslav Chernov and Evgeniy Maloletka, then later grew into a full performance—Mariupol: Diaries of War and the Tree of Life—which was staged in New York and New Jersey throughout the spring and summer of 2024.
More recently, I’ve started organizing my own Diary of War events, working with some of the most incredible American theater and film actors. In February 2024, marking two years since the full-scale invasion, I read my diary alongside Zuzanna Szadkowski to raise funds for the Women Veteran Movement NGO. In June, I collaborated with Bedlam Theater, where, for the first time, my stories were performed by American veterans—actors who understand war in ways that words alone can’t capture. In September and November, we staged Diary of War: Women in Brooklyn and Bedlam’s West End Theater, bringing the voices of seven Ukrainian women to the stage.
Every one of these performances has been 100% charitable. Over the past year, we’ve raised more than $60,000 for Ukrainian volunteer medics and female veterans. Today, on February 24th, we continue this mission with another reading—this time in support of Hospitallers, a volunteer battalion of combat medics who risk their lives to save others. Directed by Musa Gurnis, this performance will share the testimonies of seven Ukrainians whose lives were forever changed by war.
There is something that has not changed but has only strengthened since February 24th, three years ago: Ukraine and Ukrainians are unique. The way we fight for our existence, language, culture, and love is unparalleled in this world. I am incredibly proud to be Ukrainian. As my friend Iryna «Cheka» Tsybukh, who was killed by the Russians on May 29th last year, used to say: “The brave always have luck.” This phrase from Ivan Bahrianyi’s novel “The Hunters and the Hunted” best describes us, Ukrainians.
“The brave always have luck.”
Glory to Ukraine!
Glory to the Heroes!
Daria Kolomiec is a Ukrainian cultural activist, DJ, and producer.
—————–
Sarah Little is a journalist and the founder of More to Her Story, an independent, nonprofit newsroom dedicated to improving the odds for women and girls, reaching millions of monthly readers.
Sarah has traveled to more than 40 countries spanning five continents, interviewing young women and girls. She is a Women for Women International Champion and the youngest fellow at Babson College’s Institute for Social Innovation. She hosts More to Her Story: The Podcast, ranked in the top 10% of global podcasts. Most recently, she was named to the Forbes 30 Under 30 2025 List for Media.
Sarah holds a Master’s degree in International Journalism with a focus on Middle East reporting from City, University of London.
Source: https://moretoherstory.substack.com/p/diary-of-war-daria-kolomiec
